The Way I Like Loving You
by faberino
Summary: Jo and Camille, under the covers, but not in the way that Camille wants.


**Author's note**: This is based off a series of remixes I did of A Softer World, and this was written for this particular remix.

She glows now. Her cheeks are flushed, mouth in a full, wide smile that all the promises of youth can't contain. Even the tips of her hair crackle – not with static; no, some other kind of electricity races beneath Jo's skin.

The tips of her fingers feel like they might leave hot circles where they touch Camille's hands. Their hands fit together just so, and Camille feels like they're slotting together like it means Something. They're close, each other's breath pushing gently at their cheeks. Fingers laced, Jo's covers pulled over their heads, the world outside is dim and muted. Camille watches Jo's lips as she whispers about her day on set. There's no reason to be whispering, but it gives the brunette a chance to lean closer, closer -

"Guess what," Jo whispers. Her nose rubs Camille's cheek. There's a surprise coming; she can see it clearly in Jo's raised eyebrows.

There's no need to whisper; no one is home, but they both enjoy the hushed secrecy it makes them feel. "What?" Camille whispers back, hands tightening.

"Kendall and I," Jo begins, breaking into a giggle, and Camille's heart sinks. They can never have a conversation anymore without him breaking into it, either just a passing mention or - "we're doing it."

Camille smiles, like she doesn't understand. But how could she not? "It?" she whispers, biting down hard on the _t_.

All the air underneath the covers disappears into Jo's lungs as she sucks in a breath to say, in a rush, "Kendall and I had sex last night." She closes her mouth almost tenderly at the conclusion of the word _night_.

"What was it like?" Camille asks dutifully, reaching out to push a strand of blonde hair from Jo's face. "Did it hurt?"

Jo closes one eye, wrinkling up her nose, and Camille smiles a little, even though there's a lead weight pressing down on her chest. "Yeah," she says, "but he was, he was sweet about it." She falls silent, and they survey each other.

"How do you feel?" And Camille breaks their rule, her voice rising just enough to become a hoarse half-whisper. She untangles a hand to smooth down Jo's side, stopping just on the swell of her hip.

Something changes in Jo's expression and she rolls over, throwing the covers off them both. Cold air sweeps in, chilling Camille's hands and her knees, all the places they'd been touching. "Initiated," Jo finally says, stretching. Her green shirt rides up, and Camille follows the trail of blonde hairs that disappear down to -

"Camille?"

She jerks her gaze away guiltily, and Jo is smiling nervously at her. "That's my name."

Jo laughs. "You're not mad at me, are you?"

Camille scoffs, crossing her arms and sitting up. Jo mimics her position, tucking her hair behind her ears. "About what? Why would I be mad at you?"

Jo kind of shrugs, meddling with her socks. "Because I mean." She stops, like she's trying to gather her thoughts. "We'll still hang out, you know, I'm not gonna be one of those girls that stops hanging out with her girl friends because she's -" Her hands have a life of their own, kneading anxiously at her toes, encased in their flannel socks. "- having sex with her boyfriend." When she finishes, she purses her lips, looking so worried.

Smiling, Camille reaches out and pats Jo's cheeks. "I know." She feels like she should say something else, something more important, but her words are stuck behind her teeth. "Just no deets!" She winks outrageously, and Jo's shriek of laughter and the ensuing tussle on the bed take Camille's mind off it for a while.

But.

The sheets are a rumpled mess at the foot of Jo's bed, and their hair is tangled together now, a contrast in dark and light on Jo's yellow pillow. "Lunch?" Jo says as she attempts to pick apart their hair. Her scalp hurts from the pulling, but Camille doesn't say anything. "I mean, when I get our hair untangled."

A couple minutes later, hair safely separated, Camille checks her reflection in the bathroom mirror, holding up a strand of dark hair. It's shiny, it's curled perfectly, but it lacks that something. "You coming?" Jo calls. She turns away, avoiding her reflection's gaze.


End file.
